by Jo Leigh
As it was, she had to get a grip on her rioting responses. Her first duty was to let Dan know the team’s decision before he heard the news in the hall.
For a few moments, she concentrated on slowing her heartbeat and calming her breathing.
Come on, seven-thirty. This would be the shortest meeting on record.
She climbed the stairs to the station’s third floor and tapped on Dan Phillips’s door. When she heard him call, “Come in,” she pushed it open.
And stopped on the threshold. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone.”
Mackenzie Roussos uncurled her lanky frame, which topped Eve’s by about four inches, from the squashy chair in the corner. “Nice to see you, Eve,” she said. “Great show today. I’m looking forward to sticking around for the town-hall show tomorrow, too.”
“Thanks,” she replied, watching Mac the Knife the way a bird would watch an approaching cat. Shrugging off the last lingering thought of Mitch, her senses went on alert. “We never know what to expect with those. I think that’s why they get the highest ratings during the week. There’s something mesmerizing about unpredictability.”
“There’s something mesmerizing about Just Between Us, period,” Mackenzie purred. “I really think it would be a fabulous fit for SBN.”
Well, there was a perfect opening for you. “Actually, that’s what I came to discuss with Dan.” She glanced at him, then back at the other woman, and smiled. Let her make what she wanted of that. “In confidence. Do you mind, Mackenzie?”
Roussos smiled and snagged her silk jacket off the coat tree and her Dooney & Bourke briefcase from the floor. “Not a bit. I love it when you talk about me and my network behind my back. Later, Dan.”
She closed the door behind her, and Eve sank into the other chair, which was a hard-backed one close to the chaotic pile that concealed his desk. What had they been talking about? Was she making him pie-in-the-sky promises about the future of his production company if he guaranteed that SBN would get the show? Or was she here for more personal reasons? Just how much influence did a high-flying woman like Mackenzie Roussos have over a middle-aged, independent station owner who hankered for a taste of the big time?
There was no way to ask these questions, and she had a job to do. For a moment, she wondered how to begin, but he saved her that decision.
“Production meeting go okay?”
She nodded. “Town-hall prep is pretty straightforward. Give the audience a topic and stand out of the way of flying objects.” He chuckled, and she went on, “I was glad to have some extra time to talk over the networks’ offers with everyone at once.”
Dan eyed her, giving away nothing. “And?”
“I gave them the three options, and we talked over the ramifications of each one. In the end, it was nearly unanimous.”
Another pause. Then Dan said, “You want me to read it in tomorrow’s paper, or what?”
Ouch. She’d thought he’d be mellower after being schmoozed for however long Mackenzie had been closeted in here with him. Eve took a deep breath. “Everyone wants to go with CWB.”
His face froze.
She rushed on, “All of us except maybe Zach have reasons for wanting to stay in Atlanta. Me included. I’m just getting to know my extended family after being away for so long. Cole doesn’t want to uproot his kids. Nicole would rather not go even farther east and-”
“CWB?” he asked, as if she hadn’t even been talking. “You chose that Podunk network over SBN and CBS?”
“Yes.”
“Are you completely insane?” He pushed his chair back and stalked around it. For a second Eve wondered if he had a predisposition to violence she didn’t know about, and then he passed her and began to walk a tight circle on the area rug. “Their offer wasn’t even half as generous as SBN’s. What are you people thinking?”
“We’re thinking about our lives,” she said carefully, watching him. “About the quality of them. And frankly, with the exception of Jenna Hamilton, nobody in that room really cares about SBN’s money right now. We have enough of our own.”
“You would have if Liza Skinner hadn’t shown up, dragging her sour grapes into this. You can’t depend on that money, Eve. By the time she gets through with you, most of it will have gone on legal fees, and twenty years from now you’ll get a check for a thousand bucks.”
“Maybe.” Eve tried to keep her voice steady. Mitch had warned her, hadn’t he? She should have listened to him-and been ready. She should have realized how invested Dan was in going with one of the big networks. She should have seen the significance of all these têteà-têtes with Mackenzie Roussos. “But even leaving the money out of it, CWB still has the best deal. No one wants to go to New York. Period.”
“Maybe I do,” he ground out.
“Then go, if you want to. Sell the station outright to CWB instead of becoming an affiliate. Or sell Driver Productions to SBN and syndicate the heck out of it.”
He glared at her, and she realized that disappointment in her decision had clouded his ability to see reason at the moment. She valued her relationship with Dan, and staying any longer meant they’d probably both say things they’d regret.
“Look, I’m sorry that this is disappointing for you. But you’ll see in the long run that it’s best for the team. And that’s what we all want, right?”
He threw himself into the squashy chair-which was probably still warm from Mackenzie’s shapely behind-and stared out the window.
“Maybe we can talk about it later,” she offered, and slipped out, closing the door behind her.
Thank God she had Mitch to look forward to, she thought, as she clattered down the stairs. She snatched up her handbag and briefcase and left the station at the next thing to a run. The thought of Dan and his problems peeled away under the sharp edge of anticipation.
Dinner and dessert.
He’d promised.
11
HOW DID YOU dress for a seduction when you had to appear in public and eat dinner first?
Eve considered her closet for the fifth time since arriving home. After her shower, she’d done her makeup with special care and put her hair up in a twist decorated with one of Nana’s mother’s Art Deco diamond clips. The evening was a warm one, telling her that they’d all be wilted and sweaty when the blast furnace of summer actually hit. So with the temperature in the low eighties, velvet and anything satiny was out.
She fingered the red gauze blouse he’d said he liked. Unconsciously, she’d put on a bloodred lipstick that was a good match for it. Hey, why fight her instincts? She pulled the top on and cinched the wide sash ties into a big bow under her breasts, where it had the inevitable effect of drawing the eye to her cleavage.
No wonder Mitch liked it. Plus, this deep red was a good color on her. Now. Skirt. She chose a long black knit slit up both sides, and stepped into black stilettos that made her legs look much longer than they were.
Turning in front of the mirror, she nodded. The combination of the youthful top with her grandmother’s diamonds was unique and fun-an image she worked hard to project on camera. Not to mention comfortable. When you were in the public eye as much as she was, comfort couldn’t be overrated.
She decided against earrings-they’d only slow her down when she and Mitch were tearing each other’s clothes off. Oh happy thought. And where was he, anyway? Seven-thirty had come and gone.
As if she’d conjured him up with the thought, the doorbell rang, and she clicked down the hall to answer it.
Damn, he looked good behind a whole lot of red roses.
Mitch held out the enormous bouquet. “Sorry I’m late. Apparently there’s a shortage of these. I had to go to three places to make up a dozen. Can you believe that?”
Taking them from him, she buried her face in the fragile petals and inhaled their wildly romantic scent. “I can’t believe you went to all that trouble.”
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“It’s worth it. Between the bouquet and you, I’m speechless.” He leaned over the flowers and kissed her.
His lips asked, “Do you feel the same way as you did two hours ago?”
And hers replied, “Oh yes. Just you wait.”
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark and he couldn’t seem to take his gaze off her mouth. “Are you sure you want to go out for dinner first?”
“If we don’t go,” she whispered, “we never will. And I hardly have a thing in the fridge.”
He nodded as if he were trying to convince himself. “You’re right. Ready?”
“Just let me do something with these flowers and get my wrap.”
It seemed to Eve that dinner was less about the food than about scent and flavor and heat-and Mitch. She couldn’t have said whether she ate pork or beef, but she knew what his hands looked like as they held fork and steak knife. The wine was a wonderful pinot noir-but she only knew that because he said it was the same color as her blouse.
Her senses-taste, touch, sight-seemed to be intensified, as though the addition of Mitch to her life made her experience it more deeply or more thoroughly. She’d been in love before-with Rafe in college in Florida, and then briefly Austin Taylor, a newscaster who had left CATL-TV just before the show had taken off. She’d thought she knew the signs, but they hadn’t been anything like this.
She didn’t love Mitch, she told herself as he handed her his steaming espresso to counter the sweetness of the exquisite crème brûlée. Love didn’t work like that-didn’t explode into being in the course of a week of business negotiations. But she was certainly a little bit in love with him, and the anticipation of what was to come was like frosting on the cake of a wonderful evening.
He hadn’t even touched her outside of a hand on her waist as he guided her out of the restaurant and into the car. But her whole body was singing with need until, by the time they got to his hotel, she was as soft and moist as if they’d been kissing the whole way instead of driving.
“I hope you appreciate the extent of my self-restraint,” he murmured in the elevator as they floated to the tenth floor. “I’ve managed to go two whole hours without throwing you down on the nearest table and ravishing you.”
“Name the last time you heard anyone say ‘ravish.’” Her tone teased. Her eyes promised that she’d let him do just that, if he wanted.
“You did.” He pulled out his key as they walked, and unlocked a door about halfway down the corridor. “In a show last winter on the physics of the bra.”
“I remember that one. Boy, did the ratings ever spike.”
He ushered her in and closed and locked the door. “As of this moment, we are not talking business anymore.” He slid the wrap off her shoulders and draped it over a chair. “Can I get you a small but criminally expensive drink from the minibar?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you properly.”
“I’ve been waiting to kiss you improperly.”
And then there was no more waiting. He turned and scooped her into his arms, his mouth coming down on hers. Her head fell back as she welcomed his lips, his tongue and the promise of complete possession later. Because that’s what this kiss was-a promise of things to come.
She could hardly wait, and at the same time, she wanted this moment to last forever.
Oh, my, he tasted good. His tongue teased hers, and she met him halfway. He advanced, and she invited, until their kiss deepened into a conflagration of texture and desire. How was it possible that lips could be so soft and wooing, and a tongue could be so hard and suggestive?
Eve took every suggestion he made and turned it into a seduction until they were both gasping for breath.
Still holding her, he backed up until his knees met the mattress. He reached back and stripped the glossy coverlet off it with one hand.
“If we land on that thing, we’ll slide right off it,” he said, pulling her onto the crisp sheets.
“Good plan.” She lay beside him and toed off her sandals. They dropped to the floor with a double clack. He reached down and tossed his shoes toward the closet door.
“Stop right there,” she ordered softly. “I get to do the rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very good.” Leaning on one elbow, with the other hand she loosened his tie and whipped it off his neck and over one shoulder. “You sound like a real Southerner.”
“When in Rome. Sure I can’t help you with these buttons?”
“Absolutely not.” She made short work of them, and obligingly, he lifted up so she could remove his shirt. “Mmm.” She ran an admiring hand over his chest, feeling the mat of curly hair, springy with life. “You feel good.”
“You look good. You wore my favorite blouse.”
“A Southern lady always thinks of others.” Her hand strayed down to his belly, slowly mapping the contours of his abs. My, oh my.
“Does a Southern gentleman think about what the lady has under her clothes?”
“I’m sure he does, but he would never, ever mention it.” She debated whether she should explore the growing bulge in his trousers from under his waistband and belt, or through the fine wool.
“Okay.” His voice was husky as he leaned over. “I won’t say a word.”
And he lowered his head to kiss the curve of her breast. His tongue swirled on her skin, tracing the plunge of her cleavage and working up the other side. It felt glorious, as though he were worshipping every inch of exposed skin.
“Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” he whispered as he moved red gauze aside to expose the red lace of her bra. He ran his tongue under the scalloped edge.
“Not since yesterday,” she managed.
“What terrible manners. I like your lingerie.”
“I thought you might.”
“Next time, don’t wear any. Remember what I said before.”
Did she ever. “You like to look.”
“That I do. May I?” He pulled the edge of the cup down and exposed her nipple.
“Please, Mitch.” She arched her back and moved as if to force herself into his mouth, but he pulled back.
“Not so fast. I want to look first.”
The man was an expert at torture, but at the same time, it was tremendously exciting to be the focus of that hot gaze. He released the front catch and her bra sprang apart. And then, unexpectedly, he arranged the wrap front of her blouse over her naked breasts and pulled her up until they sat facing each other. The fabric was like a breath of sensation on her flesh, teasing her aching nipples while it hid them from his sight.
“Very nice,” he breathed. “I can see your luscious nipples right through it.”
Or not. Her breasts felt heavy with desire, and she was positive the nipples he loved had never been harder or more ready to be touched.
Slowly, he untied the bow in the front and unwrapped the blouse, pushing it and the bra off her shoulders. She kicked off her skirt, and he backed up against the headboard, where he pulled her into his lap so that she straddled him.
“Oh, my.” She settled onto his erection, shielded by her wet panties and his trousers. Ooh. Very nice. Her breasts jiggled as she adjusted her position.
“Miss Best, I’m overcome by my need to taste your nipples. They are quite simply driving me mad. May I?”
If you don’t, I’ll scream. No, a Southern lady would never say that. “Please do.” She resisted the urge to giggle and instead, rocked a little on his cock.
She settled her arms around his neck as he cupped her breasts in his hands and groaned with pleasure as her flesh filled them. “Lovely,” he breathed. “So round. So firm.” Then he lowered his mouth to her nipple and swirled his tongue around it before he suckled it. Delight darted along her veins as his clever tongue and teeth pleasured her, as he nibbled and sucked and licked his way from one to the other
and back again.
“Miss Best,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin, “I would like your permission to lick your nipples every day.” He slid two fingers between their bodies, and she jumped with the sudden, unexpected pleasure as his fingers found their target. “And since we’re on the subject, your clit, as well.”
“Shall we write that into the contract?” she asked, and gasped as he hooked her panties with his thumbs and pulled them off. In return, she undid his belt and fly and yanked his trousers and boxers down, tossing them to the floor.
“If not the contract, then certainly your calendar.” He pulled her into her former position, and she settled onto his naked cock as he gazed up at her. His mouth was swollen and his eyes glazed and dark with passion. He tongued a nipple, drawing it into his mouth and releasing it with a sound like a kiss. “I can’t live a single day without at least looking at your magnificent breasts. Naked, of course. We’ll need to specify that in writing.” His hips rose under her, and she ground herself against him. “And making you come. In your office will be fine. On your desk, preferably, but I’ll make do with the carpet if I have to.”
“On my desk?” she asked weakly.
“Yes indeed. You can lie on it and I’ll sit in your chair and eat you for lunch.”
“Goodness,” she whispered. “Lucky me.”
“Miss Best, there’s a condom in that wallet on the nightstand. Would you be so kind?”
In seconds she had it unwrapped and rolled down on him. He repositioned her above him and she sank onto the tip. A moan escaped her as she stretched to accommodate him.
“Miss Best,” he ground out, cupping her breasts so that his thumbs abraded her nipples, “I can’t wait any longer. Please use me ruthlessly for your pleasure.”
She kissed him deeply and sank onto him, feeling his tongue slip into her mouth and his thick erection slide deep into her body. Feeling his hands on her breasts as she rose and fell in slow motion. Feeling his fingers slide between them to touch her clit and stimulate it, as slippery with her creaminess as it would be if indeed he did have her on her own desk, bringing her to orgasm with his tongue-
